


I've Found My Way

by perclexed



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Community: lewis_challenge, Episode Related, Existential Crisis, International Fanworks Day 2015, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s02e03 Life Born of Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perclexed/pseuds/perclexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James, the church, and two-fingered salute to hate and intolerance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Found My Way

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to wendymr for the last minute beta. Because awesome.
> 
> Part of the Roulette Challenge - 27 Black; [Killing in the Name - Rage Against the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWXazVhlyxQ)
> 
> I realize the song is more about institutionalized racism and police brutality, but James & his past with the church came to mind immediately when viewing the linked video, so I went with that instead. I should also probably say that I am a filthy pagan, and the ways & means of the Catholic Church mystify the hell out of me. Pun only partially intended.

He goes back, months later, to Sanctuary. All physical evidence of his misadventures and near-death experience with Zoe have long since healed, and his relationship with Lewis mended. A bit like the way broken bones heal. Stronger for the break, the frame of their partnership is slowly finding the comfortable, natural balance that had been missing during that horrible case.

But while James feels he's purged some of the poison that has been slowly eating away at his soul since Will had come to him again in Oxford, it's not gone completely.

The club has a classic night, where the classics are apparently a mixed bag, and anything from ten years ago or more is up for grabs. And whoever is running the music selection tonight has a dark sense of humor. "Personal Jesus", for example, gets a particularly loud, ironic cheer from the increasingly drunk dancers on the floor.

He's pretty sure he'd have noticed the gentleman who's been eyeing him up all night even if he wasn't a professional trained to notice such things. They've slowly but surely been drifting closer to one another between visits to the bar. There's a feeling of inevitability, and a sense of rightness as his admirer jerks his head towards the bathrooms, blue eyes darkened with desire. James swallows the last of his drink and follows.

The song blaring through the club shifts to something with a heavy bass line. It throbs through him, stirring his groin, and he's flushed and ready for the rough hand that captures the back of his neck and pulls him into a brutal kiss as soon as he clears the doorway. He gives as good as he's getting, though a part of his brain that never stops analyzing muses on the lyrics even as he's sucking on the very male tongue in his mouth. The lock on the door sliding into place sounds very loud, even over the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears.

_and now you do what they told ya_

God forgive him, he had and he had destroyed not just Will, but nearly their circle of friends and himself along with it. And then all those years later, the base of trust he'd built with his Inspector. He should've listened to his instincts every time. That any church, any God he would willingly dedicate himself to couldn't maintain such horrid, hateful, exclusionary attitudes.

_you justify those that died by wearing the badge, they're the chosen white_

Instead, he buried his misgivings deep, and carried on. That tiny bit of white at the base of the throat of a priest's clerical collar is meant to be a visible symbol of spiritual authority, an oasis of light in an ocean of black. Black thoughts, black deeds, black souls, all stretching, reaching towards that tiny bit of salvation in unrelenting darkness.

But only if you play by their rules. Only if you can carve out fundamental parts of yourself in the name of sacrifice, duty and devotion. As he's grown older, though he can't truly believe much wiser, he can't help but question the contradictions in the doctrine. If man is made in His image, doesn't that include all our imperfections as well? And if so, how can loving his fellow man in this way be wrong?

_fuck you I won't do what you tell me_

Tonight is about changing that. Reclaiming that which he'd given up to a church and beliefs he can't reconcile with what he knows to be true. At the end, Will had said, "Love is never wrong", and it resonates in a way that hundreds of pages of doctrine and instruction never could.

Their hips are grinding together with the beat, and James is moaning faintly as sensation shivers up his spine. The guitar, screeching like nails on a chalkboard, makes him flinch back momentarily, but he covers by reaching for the man's belt and sinking to his knees.

_fuck you I won't do what you tell me_

Watching a bead of pre-cum welling at the tip, and feeling especially daring, he pretends to fumble a bit and smears that fluid onto his forehead, anointing himself in a particularly filthy parody of Unction, though the only death he may be near is a little one.

Reveling in the heat, the scent, the utter maleness of his partner, he reaches up and steadying himself with a hand on the man's hip, he opens his mouth and receives this body on his eager tongue. It's not the Eucharist, but he feels cleansed nonetheless as he sucks experimentally and slowly slides his mouth down and up and down again.

"Your mouth looks beautiful stretched around my cock. Look at you. So hungry for it. Swallow it all. Yeah...that's it."

The words are said in a harsh tone, but the hand on the back of his head is gentle, merely resting as if in benediction rather than shoving James down on the dick drooling pre-cum into the back of his throat. Tears slowly seep from the corner of his eyes, but for once they're tears of joy and relief instead of self loathing and sorrow.

_fuck you I won't do what you tell me_

Words have tapered off to faint moans and the occasional grunt of approval when James pulls back and swirls his tongue around the head, gently flicking the very tip against that spot under the head and smiling with satisfaction as best he can with his mouth full as the man's knees buckle slightly.

_fuck you I won't do what you tell me_

Giving the balls he's been gently rolling in one hand a last squeeze, he hastily deals with his own fly and reaches for his own length. It's not going to take long for either of them, and he's been so hard for so long now he actually hurts. Stroking himself in time, he ignores the breathy warning and pulls back so that just the head rubs up against the roof of his mouth, his tongue busily rubbing against that sweet spot once more.

Bitter fluid pours over his tongue, but it's sweeter than any Communion wine he's ever taken. Swallowing blissfully, he gazes up into those blue, blue eyes adoringly, devotedly. Being on his knees has never felt this right, and his hand is flying over his cock as he soars higher and higher.

_fuck you I won't do what you tell me_

"Come. Come now."

And he did.


End file.
